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It stands as the most iconic entrance in cinematic history – and he remains without moving a muscle.

A young FBI agent, just starting out, must walk a row of prison cells finally encountering Hannibal Lecter's secure glass tank. The man is present, with features like a skeletal visage exuding demonic evil, chillingly static wearing a snug blue prison jumpsuit. He remains motionless before suddenly he propels himself at the barrier, making that distinctive snarling-hissing noise. Numerous true-crime documentaries have since revealed that actual serial killers are usually uninteresting, far from Hopkins' captivating film persona.

Hopkins was hardly a newcomer at the time he got the part that won him an Oscar in The Silence of the Lambs during the late 80s: a star wasn't born, instead, a superstar emerged. The character of Hannibal was inspired, Hopkins cheerfully recalls in his latest book, on the classic Dracula, on Joseph Stalin according to his daughter's memories, and also from his icily exacting Rada tutor his mentor Fettes. The scenes also contained a paternal-filial aspect to these scenes; a difficult topic for Hopkins, who recounts how his King Lear was unknowingly shaped by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, the daughter he was separated from from his initial marriage back in 1966 with Petronella Barker, who was angered by his time away and his drinking habits.

The memoir's title is derived from an historical picture of Hopkins as a toddler with his father at the seaside – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He was a bewildered, lonely, vulnerable little boy hailing from Port Talbot, the child of Richard Hopkins, the memorable figure in this story: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the sanctimonious churchgoers of the chapel and didn't believe in expressing his feelings, but had a streak of dreamy, sentimental tenderness. It was Hopkins Sr who deeply disliked the way they had to go humbly to affluent family members such as Aunt Patty, whose husband knew Nye Bevan and was able to secure the young Anthony into a posh school: “Because they're bloody rich!” he exclaims in the car on the way there. “Everyone is looking for scraps! Total garbage, that's all it is!”

The grovelling paid off, temporarily. Hopkins was a hopeless student in his new institution. However, one day during an English class he had to recite John Masefield's poem titled The West Wind – sight unseen – and his talent emerged; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that poetry, on its own, launched him. Combined with participating in the YMCA theater group. Surprisingly, he exited school without much hope, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with Laurence Olivier at the Old Vic within 10 years. He largely achieved it alone, although in those days there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. His dad remained in awe of Anthony's global success: when he asked Anthony to recite the Yorick speech from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and wept openly.

Regarding the fiery, bloody-minded son, he quit the National Theatre company out of frustration – much to Olivier's disappointment and criticism – but stumbled upon a great TV role playing an alleged war criminal in Leon Uris's QB VII, which led indirectly to parts like that in Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in cinema, that he favored to the stage. He stopped drinking in 1975 once a notorious drinker, and thus made it through midlife to execute great performances, including Lecter, the butler Stevens in the film The Remains of the Day alongside Emma Thompson and the old man with dementia in The Father – his second Oscar.

During the second part of the memoir he appears more reserved, more calculated. Certain stories fall a bit flat. He mentions having lunch with his fellow actor in the film Nixon, the much-respected actor Sorvino, who intended to inform him his acting as Nixon wasn't effective. Was this the chance for Anthony to gain insight something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Hardly. Hopkins seems to go along with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as driven by jealousy. Truly?

He often portrays the tough, down-to-earth professional actor who thinks you must to be on time, remember every crew member's name and proceed with the work. Indeed. However, he also describes facing a rude director who brought a background actor to tears: “Apologise to her! And develop some respect. You ever do that again near me, I'll alter your appearance!” Anthony comes across as someone who gave up drink yet perhaps not the aggression that accompanied it. A Shakespearean like him surely knows Cornwall's lines on Kent from the play Lear: “He does not know how to flatter! A truthful and simple spirit – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with a lengthy appendix composed simply